Air-Ing It Out Again

Whe

n his airness, Michael Jordan, decided last summer to reflate his 38-year-old self for NBA career No. 3, he risked becoming a basketball sideshow, a one-man Harlem Globetrotter surrounded by a bunch of clowns called the Washington Wizards, a team whose only trick was to make itself disappear come play-off time. "He is not going to dominate night in and night out," warned his buddy, the noted hoop philosopher Charles Barkley. "I don't think they will make the play-offs." Neither Jordan nor the Wiz did anything to dispel that notion, dropping 10 of their first 13 games, including an eight-game slide, the longest of Jordan's career. He scored a personal-low 6 points one night. His knees were aching. "It's disappointing more than frustrating," he said after yet another loss. "We've made some improvements since Day One, but [we're] not nearly where we should be."

The biggest improvement recently has been Jordan. He posted 17 points against Boston to help snap the slump. He then canned 30 against Philly and 22 against Miami. Two more losses followed, and then the Wiz went on a tear. They have now taken 15 of their past 20 games, good for third place in the NBA's Atlantic Division. And Jordan is imparting his magic as a player, floor coach and motivator. Against Charlotte recently he jacked up 51 points, becoming the oldest player ever to score that many, and followed up with 45 two nights later against New Jersey. "Once I get in my rhythm, I can get it going," he warned. "So I think that will keep all of those old-player conversations down a little bit."

Jordan has done more than turn the woeful Wiz into play-off contenders. The Wiz are getting TV time and advertisers and stole attention from the beloved local football franchise, the Redskins. He is moving the merchandise. (Is it any coincidence that Nike's stock price is up nearly 20% since M.J. started swishing them again?) He sells out every arena he plays in, boosting a league that was just recovering from his absence. "It's been terrific because the best thing is, we have a post-Jordan world--with Jordan," says NBA commissioner David Stern.

The only arena in which Jordan is coming up short is marriage. Last week it was revealed that his wife Juanita had filed for divorce in Lake County (Ill.) Circuit Court in Waukegan, citing "irreconcilable differences" in seeking to end their 12-year marriage. She wants sole custody of their three children and some part of Jordan's estimated $400 million net worth, plus the couple's 25,000-sq.-ft. compound in Highland Park, hoop court included. Jordan's career choice to play in Washington and live away from home may have been the breaking point for Juanita.

Jordan has been a different player in each of his NBA careers. In the Air phase (1984-93), he simply blew past or jumped over defenders with a mesmerizing ability that turned even teammates into gawking spectators. In his second career, beginning in early 1995, Jordan added upper-body strength and a fall-away jump shot, which allowed him to keep opponents on his hip and then finish them off without attacking the rim. After winning his sixth championship, he retired again. In his third career, Jordan is using his vast experience, the work ethic of a coal miner and the authority of a CEO (he was president of the Wizards' basketball operations until he re-signed as a player) to show the baby Wizards how to win and, if he has to on occasion, to take the game into his own hands.

What the Wizards have learned is that Jordan is an absolutely voracious competitor who still burns with intensity--and that he expects the same attitude from everyone. He challenges his teammates constantly, both psychologically and physically. They are made aware that he works out harder and longer than they do, that he is more focused--and that winning is no time for relaxing. When coach Doug Collins, a noted thumbscrewer, cut practice short last Thursday, Jordan complained. "Aw, let's go some more," he said loudly.

Jordan believes in that old coaching saw: You play like you practice. He has his own conditioning coach. Says assistant coach Johnny Bach: "I have never seen an athlete with such an edge to him. He is relentless; practice is no different from a game. In fact, it might be more important."

Except that the games count. Jordan doesn't want to--and can't--score 30 points every contest, and he has been trying to shift the load to emerging players, such as swingman Richard Hamilton and center Brendan Haywood. And Collins steals minutes of rest for Jordan whenever possible. He sat out the last quarter of a blowout loss to Milwaukee last weekend--"saving the legs," he said. On the floor, Jordan's understanding of the game is unparalleled. "I think great athletes have some special quality, where their minds function entirely differently," says Collins. "They see the game almost in slow motion or something." It's a hoop technology transfer: Jordan is trying to download his database to his young charges over the course of the season.